G is for Garage
by Jelsemium
Summary: Don had to persuade him that he couldn't solve his real problem by hiding in the garage. Yet another story for the Summer 2006 Alphabet Challenge for Numb3rs dot Org.


G is for Garage

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine

Author's Note: This was written for the Summer 2006 Alphabet Challenge. In other words, between seasons two and three

Don heard the distinct scratching of chalk and sighed.

He was at it _again_.

Don paused in the entry to the garage and sighed at the all-too familiar scene: horizontal surfaces covered with books, vertical surfaces covered with esoteric symbols, and slender fingers covered with chalk dust.

"What?" a raspy male voice trying to use impatience to cover hurt.

Don couldn't see his face from where he stood, but the red t-shirt did not hide the defensive way the younger man's shoulders hunched up.

"Aren't you coming to your girlfriend's going away party?" Don asked.

His response was a snort, followed by, "She's not my girlfriend. We just friends who… who work together."

"Could have fooled me."

Another snort, as a chalk laden hand dragged itself through the dark hair, leaving grayish streaks behind.

Don sighed. "Look, Buddy."

"Don't call me that! You only call me that when you want to force me to do something."

"Aw, geez, stop sulking, already!" Don snapped.

"I.am.not.sulking."

Don grinned, and then suppressed it. "Looks like sulking to me, Buddy."

There was a pause in the scribbling.

The scribbling resumed.

"Go away."

"Look, you know she likes you."

"She's leaving."

Don sighed. "This is a great opportunity for her… an opportunity of a lifetime. You should be happy for her."

The scribbling stopped again. "I am."

"Yeah, I can see happiness oozing from your every pore."

The scribbling resumed.

"I said, STOP SULKING!"

"I said… I!AM!NOT!SULKING!"

"Whatever," Don said. "Come to the party and get something to eat, anyway."

Don saw a flash of profile and a dark scowl. "I know what you want. You want me to go to the party. Kiss up to her. Persuade her to marry me. Then start producing babies…"

Don laughed. "That's a bit much from one party, Buddy."

"Well, the love-marriage-baby-carriage algorithm ain't gonna happen. Face it; nobody wants to marry a math freak. Not even another math freak."

"Don't say that. You are one of the most intelligent people alive today…"

"Which means I'm smart enough to know my own limitations. Face it, I am utter crap with people. I'm a complete failure as a son and a brother. I'd make a horrible husband and heaven help any children that I…"

The pity party was interrupted when Don lost his patience and grabbed a handful of the back of the red t-shirt.

"HEY! LEGGO!"

Don grabbed a flailing arm and twisted. Then he marched his captive towards the house.

"That's _enough_ out of _you_, Robert Eppes!" he barked. "If your Uncle Charlie can marry your Aunt Amita and raise your cousins without the universe collapsing into sudden heat death, then love and marriage are not out of the picture for you!"

He frog marched his son inside the pleasant ranch house he and Robin had bought decades ago. Both men ignored the startled expression on Charlie's face as they passed him in the hall.

"Further more," Don lectured sternly. "As long as you're living under _my_ roof, you _can_ and _will_ act like a civilized human being. That means attending Colleen Sinclair's going away party!"

He shoved the latest Eppes' prodigy towards the stairs. "Start with a shower… and put on your good clothes! No jeans!"

Robert stomped up the stairs, ignoring his amused uncle.

"Separation anxieties?" Charlie asked, leaning against the stair case. The grey streaks in the older mathematician's hair had little to do with chalk these days.

Don sighed and shook his head. "I blame you for this," he said.

Charlie's still dark eyebrows rose. "I'm supposed to be surprised? You've always blamed me for bad hops, traffic jams, statistics and rainy Mondays."

Don gaped at him. "I _never_ blamed you for rainy Mondays," he said. He roughed up Charlie's hair. "But I'm glad that you're man enough to own up to it, Buddy."

Charlie smacked his hand away.

"So, how's Larissa?" Don asked. "Still intent on joining the FBI?"

Charlie sighed. "She is. I blame _you_ for that!"

Don grinned. "I know, I'm such a bad influence. What else do you blame me for?"

"Spelling bees," Charlie added with a smile. He tapped the tips of his finger together.

"I know that, too."

There was a pause. Charlie studied Don until Don felt uneasy.

"Did you want something, Buddy?" Don asked. "Or are you just in a hurry to lose horribly at basketball."

Charlie interlaced his fingers and bounced nervously on the balls of his feet. "Speaking of Larissa," Charlie said. "My daughter and your daughter want to play a game of croquet. Alana said there was a set in the garage."

Don winced. "Can't they play ping-pong?" he asked plaintively.

Still smiling, Charlie shook his head. "Ping-pong table's covered with food." He held up his hands. "And there's not enough space for a volleyball game."

Don sighed and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Give 'em the basketball, then."

Charlie was taken aback. "I thought _we_ were going to play basketball."

"Chuck, do you really want Larissa and Alana to start an Eppes Estrogen Death Match playing a sport that uses _wooden mallets_?"

Charlie's eyes went wide. "Good point. They'll have to make do with basketball." He grabbed Don by the shoulder. "You tell them." Then he shoved Don towards the back door.

"Hey!"

"It was your idea," Charlie said.

"I don't want them mad at me!"

They wrestled for a moment until Don had Charlie in the same hold he'd used on Robert.

"I don't want them mad at me, either!" Charlie protested as Don pushed him towards the back door. "Honestly, Don, how did those two get so competitive, anyway?"

Don shrugged. "No clue, Buddy. Must have got it from their mothers."

The End.


End file.
